


Interlude: The Comfort in the Kitchen

by shadows_of_1832 (SaoirseVictoire)



Series: The Bones AU [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Bones AU, Gen, Writing Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 04:02:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21207074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaoirseVictoire/pseuds/shadows_of_1832
Summary: Eponine opens up her apartment to Enjolras after a traumatic event. In doing so, she doesn't expect to wake up in the middle of the night to him cooking in her kitchen.





	Interlude: The Comfort in the Kitchen

**Author's Note:**

> From the writing prompt, "Comfort food," requested by @grace-the-writing-ace on Tumblr.

Eponine does her best not to disturb him, knowing he’s dealing with the trauma of the past week still, but given Enjolras is only a temporary guest on her sofa, she still has her habits.

Her bedroom door creaks as she walks into the dark hallway, Gavroche and Azelma in bed what was likely a few hours ago. The lights are off all throughout the apartment, and even the living room is in its usual darkness, with the exception of the small nightlight that leads into the hallway; she’s almost surprised he didn’t want to try to sleep with the lamp on.

There is no sleeping form on the couch, however, though the blankets are ruffled as if he had tried sleeping, at least, or had been and gotten up.

Her eyes catch the light from the kitchen, and she smells something cooking. She walks through the living room and into the kitchen, finding Enjolras sitting on the floor in front of the oven. There’s a few near-empty grocery bags sitting on the counter behind him (How and when did he go to grocery store in what must be the middle of the night?), as well as a stirring spoon sitting on a paper towel next to her stove.

Then she takes a moment to look at the clock on the microwave: 4:03.

He’s up and cooking something, at 4:03 in the morning. Combeferre had mentioned his trauma might cause some oddities, and while Enjolras had some peculiar tendencies prior to what happened, she wasn’t expecting this.

“You’re up early,” she says.

“I never slept,” he replies, not moving from staring at the oven. “I tried for a few hours.”

A few moments pass in silence. Eponine’s eyes flicker to the pile of cleaned dishes near the sink.

“I’ll put them away shortly, don’t worry,” he says. “I just…I couldn’t sleep. The usual chamomile tea, I don’t think it’s strong enough.”

She then notices the two empty mugs sitting beside him. “How long have you been at this?”

“Since about 1:30,” he says.

“And you’ve been sitting on the floor this entire time?”

“Only when I don’t have to stir the _borscht_ in the glass brownie pans,” he replies. “Though a clay pot would have been more preferable and more traditional, and in today’s world, there isn’t much access to a Russian stove, either. But I’ll make do with what’s available, especially since I couldn’t find your slow cooker.”

“You mean crock pot?”

Enjolras shrugs his shoulder. “One of the ways my mother would make it.”

She shakes her head, a half-smile on her face; he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Somehow, she always knew when Annie or I were going to have a bad day at school, or when we were stressed over an upcoming test, sometimes a blend of the two, and she would always have some waiting for when we walked through the door. I think in those cases she opted to use beetroot juice with vinegar or lemon juice instead of beetroot sour, since the latter takes weeks to prepare, but it was always…seeing it on the table after whatever had happened that day, it never failed to make our days better,” he says, a faint smile on his face. “I remember the last time she made it, too, the day before she and our father left and…”

He trails off, his gaze flickering to the floor. Eponine sits down beside him, brushing his shoulder.

“Despite the few times she showed me how to make it, I can never get it to taste quite like hers.” He looks towards her for a moment, not quite meeting her eyes, before his gaze turns back to the stove again. “The ingredients, the measurements, the timing and the textures, it’s all the same, but I suppose there’s some psychological explanation why it doesn’t taste the same.”

“I thought you didn’t like psychology,” Eponine teases.

He turns his head to her. “I don’t, it’s a soft science, but I think in circumstances such as this, it warrants some credit.”

She laughs a bit at that, then turning to look into the stove.

“It should be almost done,” he says, narrowing his eyes at the stove. “I think one more round of stirring and another fifteen, twenty minutes.”

He gets up, taking the empty mugs and setting them on the countertop. He then walks towards the stove and reaches for the stirring spoon. She stands up and goes to the side so as to not get in his way.

“You’re welcome to some, if you’d like; there will be leftovers, I think enough for at least a couple of meals.” He gets ready to open the oven door.

“Sure,” she replies. “Though, I don’t think Gavroche or Azelma will be appreciative of having that for breakfast.”

“I wouldn’t expect them, too.” He laughs, and then opens the oven door and along with a pot holder in hand, pulls out the wire racks and stirs the reddish mixture of vegetables, broth, and beef. After a pause and finishing the round of stirring, he says, “Thank you, again, Thenardier, and not just for helping me get through…you know…”

“You’re welcome,” she replies, smiling as she leans against the countertop. “And know we’re all here to help.”

He dips his head, a trace of a smile on his face.

**Author's Note:**

> I sort of unintentionally wrote this with the Bones AU in mind, and while this may fit better as a portion of the next major piece that's a WIP, I think it does fine on it's own. I'll probably make reference to this incident in the next one.


End file.
